


Precious

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Hospitals, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: When Hotch is injured in a hit and run, he calls the only person he can trust to help put him back together.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/David Rossi
Comments: 60
Kudos: 111
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of Whumptober, I humbly submit the first in a multi-part Hotch Whump with a few twists and turns along the way. I'm back on my BS, it's what I do. Part One inspired by Whumptober 2020 (prompt 12 - I think I've Broken Something). In classic me fashion, I'm just taking everything all out of order and mashing it all together like a jerk so I apologize. I am what I am, right? ;)

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner, we’ll be in touch,” remarked the officer with the tired eyes sitting across from Aaron in the small hospital room. He stood and arched his back, closing his pad of paper with a finality that made Aaron cringe inwardly, but he nodded in understanding back at the man and thanked him quietly before watching him leave. It was 2am, the hospital was bright buzzing lights and sleepy staff and Aaron Hotchner, wide awake and desperately seeking some relief from the pounding in his skull and the aching in his chest. He lay there in the bed, his head resting against the flat, cold pillows, and wondered what was next for him - more tests, more drugs, sleep?

He tried to sleep, letting his eyes drift shut and his breathing slow, but his body wouldn’t relax and his mind wouldn’t stop. Every time he got close, he saw the car bearing toward him at full speed again and desperately tried to get out of its way, but every time he was jolted awake by the rush of pain that immediately followed. As if trapped by some supernatural force, he continued this cycle for over an hour, until he was too exhausted even for that and just lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, counting all the tiny pin prick holes in the tiles. Finally, a nurse came in for his rounds and helped Aaron readjust himself in the bed and find his cell phone, though it wasn’t much use to him when he could hardly use his arms. It was a small comfort in an otherwise empty void of pain and delirium.

“If you need something to help you sleep, we can get you something,” the nurse said with a kind smile, and Aaron thought he detected pity in that smile but it was probably just his ego playing tricks on him.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” was his reply. His lie. He held tight to that lie every day, even as he fell apart, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but a broken body and no one at his bedside in the middle of the night when he needed someone. Once upon a time he'd had a family, but that was gone now. The nurse smiled at him and reminded him that he’d be back in an hour to check on him, and he always had the call button if he changed his mind, then he patted Aaron on the forearm, squeezing just slightly as a reassurance that he did not indeed pity him before leaving the room. Alone again, Aaron thought as he watched the nurse walk out of his room, leaving him with the beeping of the machines. He fiddled with his phone in his hands, wondering at how disconnected his hands felt from the rest of his body. The impact had damaged his spine at the base of his neck and his shoulders, and as a result he was in both tremendous pain and felt overwhelming numbness in places as well. He was unable to lift his arms at the shoulders, and one of his wrists was broken, but he didn't really understand all of what they were saying – he'd been so foggy and dizzy, certainly a concussion but he couldn't remember them saying it. They assured him that his injuries would not be permanent, that he would regain the use of his arms over time, but to a man used to doing everything on his own, the thought that he might need that kind of help was crushing. His breaths began to come in ragged, catching in his throat, and he closed his eyes again hoping to calm himself. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, but the panic was settling in and racking his body, pain tearing through broken ribs and pain medication - and then, as if sent from God himself, came a voice. The voice he needed to cut through the chaos of his panic.

“Aaron? Is that you?” The voice was small, faint, and filtered through technology. His phone. Aaron peered down at his phone, in his panic he’d dialed his phone - he’d dialed Dave. How? He had no idea.

“Dave,” he whispered, his voice raw and ragged and he couldn’t say anything else without it shattering. The phone sat in his hand, his stupid useless hand, unable to be brought to his ear but glowing and mocking him. 

“Aaron? Where are you?” Dave asked, his usually cool and serene voice edged with a panic of his own and Aaron felt awful. It was 3am, he shouldn’t have called, what was he thinking?

“I’m sorry to bother you, Dave, go back to sleep.” Classic Hotchner. He’d reached out, he’d tried to anchor himself to another person, to a lifeline, but slashed that lifeline as soon as he got close to harbor. Silence on the other end of the line. Aaron held the cold phone in his hand and stared down at it, the speaker lit up but silent, he couldn’t even hear breathing. Had Dave fallen back asleep? Maybe. After another minute of pure silence, he heard Dave’s voice again, but this time he sounded sharper, the sleep was gone from it.

“I’m on my way,” was all it said, and he stayed on the line but no more sound came. He’d traced the call. Classic. Should have known. Aaron felt something in him recoil against the idea that Dave, or anyone, was coming and would see him like this, but he wasn’t an idiot, he knew he needed someone and so he spent the time between Rossi’s last words and Rossi’s face appearing in the doorway of his room convincing himself that this was a good thing and that he needed to let it run its course.

“Aaron, what happened?” Dave asked, approaching his friend’s bed cautiously. He watched as Aaron searched for the words and took the time to really look his friend over - his face was pale except around his nose and jaw where it was swollen and covered in angry bruises and scrapes that reached all the way to the top of a neck brace and beneath that he could see a mapwork of more bruises that lead beneath the gown and down onto his forearms. One hand was in a thick bandage that wound partially up his arm and lay motionless at his side, the other grasping his cell phone and shaking just slightly. He was so still, except for that shaking hand. He knew the gown hid more than his mind could grasp at this time, but he let that go for now. With Aaron, it was important to enter into his private life slowly, even when invited, and be ready to retreat at a moment's notice. Friendship with him was not for the faint of heart.

“Decided to go for a run after dinner…” Aaron began, his voice soft and shaky, and Dave could see the pain it caused him just to try and talk. “Car came out of nowhere, around the corner...didn’t even slow down…”

Dave was quiet for a moment, regarding his friend, the pain he tried to hide written all over his features. “Has anyone else been to see you?”

“No.” The word hung in the air between them. Dave had known the answer before he asked, but he had the smallest hope that it would be different. That somehow he hadn’t been alone all this time.

“I’m glad you called me,” he said, taking a leap of faith. He watched Aaron’s features grow cold for a moment, locking up, but he held the gaze and grabbed a chair from near the window, sliding it over to the side of the bed. He never let his gaze drop, not even for a second. He said what he said, and now it was out there and the ball was in Aaron’s court, but as the silence stretched out Dave knew how it would go. There were no surprises here, not really.

“Me too,” Aaron whispered, finally, watching as his friend sat down beside him. His anchor. “Thank you for coming.”

David just smiled, and in a leap of faith, he reached out and gently lay his hand atop Aaron’s bandaged one, letting it just rest there. Aaron didn’t pull away, though Dave wasn’t entirely sure he could have if he tried. He could see the exhaustion written all over his friend’s face. “You try and get some sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron inclined his head slightly, the closest he could get to a nod, and let his eyes drift closed. It was the first time they’d closed that night and he didn’t see the car, only black - warm, sweet darkness. Dave scooted his chair closer to the bed so that he could rest his arm more comfortably, never breaking his hand free, and leaned back in his chair just watching Aaron’s chest rise and fall as he slipped into a deep sleep.

When the nurse came back in at 4am for his hourly rounds, Rossi was still awake, his hand still in place atop Aaron’s. His palm was sweaty and his arm was losing feeling, but he was afraid that if he moved it, Aaron may wake up and he needed sleep. The nurse smiled, his eyes twinkling with kindness - he was very young, the kind of kid who could pull an ER night shift and still be a functioning human the next day, the kind that would eventually wear himself thin but for now was a beacon of light to his patients.

“You’re his first visitor,” the nurse remarked, checking over the machines carefully. Dave regarded the statement with sadness, but he smiled that gentle smile of his and nodded.

“Do you know what he does for work?” Dave asked, shifting in his chair. He watched as the nurse shook his head, adjusting the IV port. “He’s an FBI agent, the Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

The nurse paused for a moment and peered over at Rossi, his youth now on full display. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward just a little, his interest piqued. Dave smiled.

“We catch serial killers,” Rossi said, matter-of-factly. Of course there was more to it than that, but when you wanted to keep someone’s attention, you threw that one out first. “He’s my boss.”

The nurse stood silently for a moment, taking in the information he'd been given, then shook it off and smiled again. “Sounds like a really hard job, I couldn't do what you do.” The absurdity of what he'd said was not lost on Rossi, that an ER nurse who sees horrors every day would say he couldn't do what they did, but Rossi didn't argue with him. It wasn't the point of what he'd said. 

“Most days, I don't think I can either,” Rossi replied, matter of factly. “But I know he's going to show up every day, even after the horrors he's seen and experienced, and I know that if he shows up every day for us, I can certainly show up for him. Even if that means answering my phone at 3am.”

At that, the nurse nodded quietly, regarding Rossi. “You know, I don't think my boss would call me if she was in hospital,” he said, after a moment of silence, regarding the heft of what Rossi had really meant by his statement. “You're a good _friend_.”

Rossi just smiled and silently watched as the nurse finished what he was doing and quietly left the room, leaving him with the beeping of the machines and the soft, sleeping breaths of his friend. He didn't expect to sleep, but eventually it came anyway, like it always does.


	2. Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little fluffy, but it was necessary I promise. It is a means to an end. If you have anything you'd like to see, please let me know, I do like to add in requests when/if I can!

The morning light struck through the blinds like daggers, jutting out across the hospital room. 7am. 3 hours of sleep, Rossi noted while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He watched as a new nurse buzzed around the room as quietly as she could and smiled at her when she saw him awake. So many awkward, silent smiles in the hospital. 

“I'm sorry if I've woken you, I won't be long,” she whispered, her eyes darting nervously to the sleeping patient then back to Rossi. 

“Not at all, I'd like to be awake when he wakes anyway,” Rossi whispered back, watching her work. “When will he see the doctor?”

The nurse paused for a moment and flipped through her chart. “He should be in around 8,” she began, looking through all the lines of the chart and making a few notes. “He won't be discharged today, if that was on your mind. He'll be here at least one more day, probably more,” she said, but stopped herself before revealing too much. People had a way of doing that with Rossi, he was so easy to talk to, you just wanted to open up your soul, but there was HIPAA and she couldn't so she just forced a smile and a small shrug. Rossi nodded in understanding and watched as she finished her work and rushed out of the room, leaving the two men in silence, one still asleep. Rossi reached for his phone, noting that he was supposed to be in the office in an hour and wondering what to say when he heard Aaron's raspy whisper from beside him. 

“You need to go,” Aaron whispered, and at the slight movement his broken jaw flashed pain through his head. He tried not to wince but he just couldn't help it, the pain had caught him so entirely off guard. Rossi just shook his head.

“Not a chance.” 

Aaron sighed, he didn't have the energy to fight and he could hardly talk, so he just resigned himself to the knowledge that he wouldn't be winning any battles of will for the foreseeable future. He just looked at Rossi, a desperate pleading in his almost teary dark eyes, and Rossi gulped back the urge to just rush forward and wrap him in a hug. That, he knew, would be wildly inappropriate and send Aaron running for the hills...metaphorically, of course. In reality, he wouldn't be running anywhere anytime soon. 

“I won't say a word,” Rossi began, leaning forward to make real, intense eye contact with his friend. “This is your story to tell...when you're ready. I'm just here to be with you. I'm here to help, Aaron.” He watched as the tension fell back away from Hotch's features, which was all the indication of trust that he would get. The two men sat in silence as Rossi texted the team to let them know he would be taking a sick day – he felt awful lying, and knew they'd see through it if he'd called, but he was sure the truth would come out in due time so for now, it had to be fine. 

“Mister Hotchner?” came a man's voice from the doorway, and both men looked toward the man whose imposing figure, shrouded in a white lab coat, was illuminated by the lights of the hallway. “Good morning, I'm Dr. Stephens,” he said, sliding into the room. He approached Aaron with an ease that even Rossi felt a little jealous of, and began his physical check of the patient. Rossi watched as the doctor looked him over, scribbled in his chart, adjusted medications and then stood back silently just looking at the man in the bed as if lost in thought. After some moments of consideration, he turned to Rossi and grinned a strange cheshire cat grin. 

“He's pretty infuriating, huh?” the doctor said, letting the joke hang there for a moment. Rossi caught his drift and chuckled a little. “Sitting here with a list of injuries as long as your arm, and not a complaint out of him. I bet if I asked him, he'd tell me he was fine, am I right?”

“Of course,” Rossi replied, his twinkling eyes darting to Aaron quickly to make sure they weren't upsetting him. He didn't seem to notice, or care. 

“Joking aside, he's not fine, but he should be in time. I don't see any reason to believe his injuries will be permanent so long as the treatment plan is followed. Has he shared the extent of his injury with you?”

“He hasn't been able to speak much,” Rossi replied quietly. The doctor quickly asked Aaron for permission to share, to which Aaron agreed as best he could, and laid back to close his eyes – if he had to endure his weakness being broadcast, he'd do his best to sleep through it. Stubborn, as always. With a deep breath, the doctor launched into a diatribe.

“The saga begins last night, around 7pm. The accident was a hit and run, the driver apparently never even slowed down at the red light but it was at a photo enforced intersection so they'll likely be found, from what the police tell me. The impact was from the left side, not head on, which saved his life I'd be willing to bet. He was thrown from the crosswalk, up onto the sidewalk, unconscious on impact with the ground. Where the car struck him was here,” the doctor gestured to the area nearest Rossi, Aaron's wrist and hips. “His wrist is broken, but there is too much swelling to cast it yet and he may need surgery but we won't know for another day or so. The impact left him with a hairline fracture on the right side of his pelvis, two broken ribs, a concussion, a broken jaw, whiplash and what look like rotator cuff injuries on both shoulders. There is a lot of swelling so we can't see as well as we need to yet, we're hoping that some of the swelling has subsided enough to get clear images, so, though it may seem alarming, the fact that he can't lift his arms isn't as scary as it sounds. It may take some time to heal, but it isn't paralysis. Do you have any questions for me?” The doctor let out a long breath, and looked quizzically at Hotch, as if in wonder again at the extent of his injuries and his silent resolve to keep it all to himself. Whatever sort of man this was, Dr. Stephens imagined that he didn't meet anyone who didn't leave in awe of him. Or hating him, perhaps for all the same reasons. 

Rossi took in the barrage of information, silently chewing on it all, feeling a pit grow in his stomach. He regarded Aaron with a gentleness that only he could, and tried not to let his complete and utter admiration for the other man shine through too much, he knew Aaron wouldn't want any of that right now. 

“When can I bust him out of here?” Rossi asked, knowing he wouldn't love the answer. The doctor pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, regarding the two men carefully. 

“If we get the pictures we need today, we can make a treatment plan and providing that surgery isn't indicated, we could cut him loose tomorrow. If surgery is required, that will change significantly.”

“What do you think, doctor? Off the record?”

“I don't think he'll need surgery, I think you'll be out of here tomorrow. He lives alone, though?”

“He'll be staying at my home,” Rossi interjected, this time avoiding Aaron's eyes completely. He'd deal with that aftermath in a few minutes. The doctor saw the look on Aaron's face, then chuckled softly and looked back at Rossi. 

“In that case, we'll go over the treatment plan when it all comes together. Mister Hotchner, how is your pain? Can we get you anything...food? Water?”

Aaron looked pitifully at the doctor, wanting to say that he was fine, but knowing no one believed it. “I don't know.” 

It was honest.  
It was all he could manage.  
It broke Rossi's heart.  
The doctor just nodded that understanding nod, and looked at Dave. 

“You keep an eye on him, ok? Use that call button if he needs anything. You might have to just be his advocate, if he won't do it himself. Are you in his medical file?”

“I'm his medical proxy,” Rossi replied, not sure if that answered the doctor's question in this instance. “Side effect of a dangerous job, doc.” 

“When I come back in a few hours, you'll have to tell me more about this dangerous job. In the meantime, we'll hope you don't need to perform any of those duties, but just be vigilant. Any sudden changes in appearance or demeanor, use that call button. In about 30 minutes, someone from Radiology will come to get him for some imaging, and once we have those I'll come back and we'll chat. Sound good?”

Rossi nodded, and watched as Aaron attempted the same but without the same results. The doctor regarded Aaron quietly, patted him gently on the knee, and exited the room without another word. The two men were left in silence for a moment, Aaron unable to speak and Rossi not knowing what to say. 

“Your home?” Aaron muttered finally, his voice soft and his words mumbled through closed teeth but clear enough for Rossi to understand. He let out a laugh, which in turn made Aaron smile the best he could muster. 

“You could do worse.”


	3. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm burning through chapters quickly, these fluffier bits come pretty naturally. I hope they're not too offputting, there is a lot more planned whumpiness but I like to strike some balance. Thanks for reading!

It took three days before the team was bombarding Rossi with calls asking about Hotch, who had turned his phone off following his trance like call to Rossi – his bruised ego couldn't afford anymore of those. At first Rossi was able to hold them off with the bare minimum information, just that Aaron had been in an accident and was going to be fine, but it didn't take long before Garcia had managed to dig up all the information she needed to stir the team into a frenzy over his well-being. Rossi, to his credit, stayed dutifully by Hotch's side through much of the days, except to go home and shower and grab some paperwork to complete in the quiet hours his friend was sleeping or undergoing therapies and treatments. As it turned out, once they'd had all the imaging they wanted, Hotch needed surgery on his wrist, so they had kept him around a few extra days. In some ways, that was a relief to Rossi, who was a little terrified of being solely responsible for his friend's well-being, even if he had been the one to volunteer. 

“Garcia wants to know if you'd be up for a Skype call,” Rossi muttered, thumbing through the massive number of texts from their team. “She's asked four times this hour.”

Aaron smiled softly as he flexed and released his fingers for the millionth time per the Physical Therapist's request. He was being weaned off of the pain medication so that he could be discharged, and his entire body was on fire. He knew they would be coming in soon to make him stand up and try to use the restroom, which was the worst part of his entire day – his pelvis fracture was minor, but he still wasn't able to bear weight on it, yet he wasn't able to use crutches or a walker either so it was utterly humiliating to be completely helpless. Thankfully, they let him use a wheelchair for the return trip – he only had to endure the humiliation one way, to keep circulation flowing. He mindlessly wiggled and flexed his fingers, watching the door like a hawk for the nurses who would be ushering him to the restroom this time and ignored Garcia's request for the moment. He knew Rossi would bring it up again anyway. 

There she was. Abigail. The sweet, and very strong nurse whose job it was to get the invalid to the potty, Aaron thought bitterly. Only this time, she didn't have her helper with her as she entered the room.

“I'm baaaaack, Agent Hotchner!” she exclaimed in her always chipper way. She was older than a lot of the nurses in the ER that he'd seen, like somehow she'd gotten this dreaded shift right out of nursing school but ended up loving it and sticking around, and for that he was thankful. She was a beacon of light whenever she entered the room, even if he would rather die than do anything she was about to ask of him. 

“Where's your other half?” Aaron asked through clenched teeth, his newly wired jaw aching, peering around her toward the door. Rossi looked up from his phone and directly at the nurse with a wry smile. 

“You didn't tell him?” she asked, peering sideways at Rossi, who just shrugged and stood up silently. Aaron regarded him suspiciously for a moment before putting two and two together, a look of dread crossing his already somber features. 

“No,” Aaron muttered under his breath. 

“You're due to be discharged tomorrow, so we thought he should probably familiarize himself with the processes he'll be, well you know...” Abigail wasn't usually the sort to get tongue-tied, she'd been nursing more than half her life and this conversation wasn't new, but she realized in that moment that the situation at hand seemed precarious and like uncharted territory for the patient. The right words simply failed her, so she shrugged. Rossi cut in and saved her.

“I'm here to help, Aaron. _Let me help_.”

“Dave...” Aaron protested weakly, his brow knitting in almost childish concern. He looked so small sitting there, so much less than the larger than life Agent Hotchner. Rossi merely shook his head and refused any further discussion of the matter. 

“Tell me what I need to do, nurse.” 

The whole process took less than 15 minutes, and Rossi kept his involvement in Aaron's private business to the absolute minimum, but there were just a few things he had to do that couldn't be avoided and wouldn't be discussed. That 15 minutes changed their friendship in ways they couldn't have imagined yet, but after that short time, Aaron released all of his inhibitions and arguments over Dave's involvement – he was in it now, as deep as he could be, and he didn't turn away or argue anymore. It wasn't that Dave ever had to prove himself, but that's exactly what he'd inadvertently done, somehow, just by being who he was. Dave could sense the change as he eased Aaron into the wheelchair gently and pushed him back toward the bed without a word. When it came time for him to lift his friend back into the bed, Aaron cooperated without any hesitation, in fact he almost seemed to melt into the touch, and if Rossi was being honest with himself, he may have held Aaron there a little longer than necessary because of it. Nurse Abigail stood watching the two men silently for a moment, ready to help if something went awry, but feeling almost like she was intruding on a very private moment, and as the moment stretched out she averted her eyes, now sure she was intruding. She couldn't leave until the patient was back in his bed and his IV was firmly back in place, but she didn't have to leer at them either. 

“Thank you,” Aaron mumbled, his warm breath brushing against Rossi's cheek as he attempted to sit back on his bed, his entire body protesting every single movement. He struggled to keep it together, focusing hard on Rossi's touch as he settled in. 

“You're welcome,” was all Rossi said, though he wanted to say so much more. Standing there, holding his friend, he'd been caught off guard by how easily they just fit together, how easily a trust flowed between them. He'd always chalked the depth of their friendship up to eons of shared trauma and failed attempts at love, but it was more than that. Now wasn't the time to enter that uncharted territory, though, so he just kept quiet and helped Aaron get comfortable in bed before moving over to the nurse to discuss how to take care of his friend once they were on their own. Truth be told, though he rarely showed even a flicker of it, he was nervous he'd do something wrong. Every few moments, he looked back at Aaron, who was lying in bed now with his eyes closed, looking almost peaceful except for the incessant flexing of his fingers.

“He shouldn't walk too much, or bear weight on that right hip for a few more weeks, so you'll really have to help him. He won't have a catheter in when you're at home, if you catch my drift...” she said, her voice quiet. Rossi could smell the cinnamon gum on her breath as she spoke, almost whispering to him as she went over the instructions. 

“He's going to go mad,” Rossi muttered, looking over the exhaustive list of things Aaron wouldn't be able to do. 

“Temporarily,” the nurse whispered back, smiling. “Although I think you two will get on just fine.” 

When they'd finished their conversation, the nurse quietly reattached the IV and electrodes while Aaron slept, neither of them had noticed when he'd fallen asleep but those fingers stopped moving and he was so still. Once the IVs were going again, Rossi grabbed the folded blanket from the foot of Aaron's bed and gently pulled it over his friend, tucking him in as best he could around the cables and tubes, then settled back into his chair and looked at his messages. 45 new messages from the team. He sighed, pulled his own blanket up over his lap, and began reading through the onslaught of messages. This would keep him busy all afternoon.


	4. Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this chapter feels choppy, it's pretty dialogue heavy which can make a story feel clunky at times, at least when I write them. ;)

“Home sweet home,” Rossi said, throwing open his front door with as much gusto as he could muster with one arm, holding Hotch around the waist with the other. Getting him out of the car, up the steps, it was all so difficult and they still had a ways to go. Hotch was doing more than he should have to help, but they really had no choice, he hadn't let Rossi call Morgan for help and the least Rossi could do was grant him that one small courtesy. Slowly, with almost the entirety of Hotch's weight draped over him, he guided the man inside and down the main hall to the master bedroom. 

“The couch is fine...” Hotch protested, knowing damn well Rossi wasn't going to listen to him. 

“Like hell it is,” Rossi replied, gently easing Aaron down onto his bed, made up with new sheets and new pillows that mirrored what he knew Aaron's own bed was at his home. Crisp and clean and almost sterile, the sheets of an ultra-neat bachelor, not the plush coverings that Rossi normally kept on his bed. This touch wasn't lost on Aaron. “I'll be in the guest room down the hall, it's perfectly fine – brand new bed, never been used. For some reason, anytime I have a guest, they end up in here.”

“Dave...” 

“I just spent the last week tailoring my house to your needs in between sitting and sleeping in a chair in a hospital beside you - “ Rossi began, his words more stern than he'd initially intended. “I'm doing my best.”

“It's not that, Dave, it's just...” Hotch began, his voice cracking ever so slightly, looking down at the dull white cast on his wrist like it was all that was holding him together right now. Rossi just nodded and lay his hand against Aaron's shoulder, squeezing softly. 

“Listen. You haven't had a good, home cooked meal in ages and I'm starving. Why don't you take it easy in here for a bit while I whip up something for us? Later, the team wanted to pop in to see you – I've held them off as long as I could, but they're turning feral. I'm sure I saw Prentiss in the hospital halls milling around once or twice, and we both know Garcia has hacked into your records to keep track of things. I told them you might not be up for it, but as Garcia is fond of saying, wild horses...”

Aaron regarded this with an almost sour look on his face, but just let out a small sigh and turned his eyes upward to meet his friend's. “I really don't...” he began, but he knew protesting was useless. He couldn't stop Rossi having guests in his own home, and was it so bad if his team cared for him and wanted to see him? He supposed not, though his ego was about to take another pounding. What he really wanted was just this – he and Dave – nothing more, nothing less. This was good, and this was safe. He didn't have to put up those walls, pretend to have it all together, not here – even if he tried, because it was second nature, he didn't need to. With his team, though, he knew he had to. He couldn't be as vulnerable with them, love them as he did – he was their leader, and leaders have to hold it together, even when they're broken. Hotch had been broken enough times around them to have it down pat, but it could be exhausting. Dave regarded his friend quietly for a moment, trying to read what was going on behind those almost teary brown eyes, his hand still resting against the curve of Aaron's shoulder. 

“It'll be ok,” Dave said, his voice almost a whisper now. “I've got this. You're not doing this alone.”

It was enough to break the flood gates, and for the first time since the accident, Hotch cried. He really cried. His chest felt like it was breaking open, ribs that were mending now shattering under the weight of his sobs, tearing at his already painful shoulders, but he couldn't stop it. Rossi quietly moved around to the other side of the bed and sat down beside him, placing his arm around his friend's shoulders and pulling him close – he did it without thinking, without planning, he just did it. He felt Aaron's body melt into his, the hot tears burning through his thin linen shirt as the man who always held it together broke down and sobbed silently and painfully. For a long time, neither man spoke, just sat there in the moment, this awful beautiful moment, filled with the salty smell of too many tears and no showers and sweet, clean bed sheets. Slowly, Aaron's breathing calmed down and he was able to take deeper breaths, slower breaths, and he unclenched the fist that he realized he'd made to grip at Rossi's shirt, holding his friend for dear life. It had been like a volcanic eruption, it happened so fast, and now the aftermath would be messy but life could resume its course. Aaron wanted to apologize for it, but he knew that he couldn't, Dave would just brush it off and for good reason. He hadn't done anything wrong – he knew that being vulnerable wasn't wrong, but a childhood conditioned to think so didn't exactly lead into a healthy adulthood. 

“Maybe I'll call the team off for tonight - “ Dave began, whispering into Aaron's matted dark hair. “You smell like a barnyard, we need to clean you up before anyone else can get close.” 

Aaron smiled through the last remnants of sticky tears on his cheeks. “We both know they're already waiting outside or driving around the block until the time.” At this, Dave chuckled quietly, knowing it was true. 

“Then let's get you cleaned up and eat something, you'll feel better after that.”

Hardly an hour after Aaron's eruption of emotions, he was seated in a plush leather recliner in Dave's den. He was sure this chair hadn't been there before, Rossi wasn't a recliner man, but he didn't want to ask if he'd bought the chair just for him. Looking at the rest of the room, he already knew the answer anyway. Rossi had also placed a seat in the walk in shower, just beneath the shower head, allowing Aaron to have a shower on his own, unassisted for the most part. There were so many things his friend had done to his own home, he could hardly wrap his mind around it, but these touches didn't go unnoticed or unappreciated. While he was in the shower, just letting the hot water wash over the scrapes and bruises that covered most of his upper body and his right side, Rossi had whipped up a gorgeous, simple polenta and marinara, the likes of which Aaron hadn't had in ages – he was used to simple, fast meals, eaten hastily and without much enjoyment. He regarded his socked feet before him, taking note of the way every part of his body hurt in its own way but he felt somehow peaceful. From the other end of the house, he heard the doorbell ring and Rossi's footsteps falling against the tiled hallway floor. A moment later, voices flooded the house, a cacophony of familiar voices, each battling the other for attention to their questions and concerns. One by one, he could hear Rossi address them, he couldn't make out words so much as sounds, but he waited for them quietly – it was only a matter of time before Rossi moved the herd his direction, and he was ready for them now. 

“Hotch?” came the first voice, small and anxious sounding in the doorway. Reid. He always took it the hardest when Hotch was hurt, though you'd think it would be second nature now, it was always one of them getting the brunt of it. 

“Come in,” Hotch replied quietly, through the stiffness in his wired jaw. “Have a seat. It's ok.” Reid entered carefully, stood for just a moment taking in the sight of Aaron in the chair, and sat down quietly. 

“You look...” Reid began, pursing his lips a little in thought, searching for the right words. It wasn't often that he paused before speaking, or could read other people well on a personal level, but even he could see that Hotch needed some encouragement. “Better than I imagined.” Well, he tried anyway. He offered up a smile, which Hotch returned the best he could. 

“Thanks. I guess.” 

“HOTCH!” came Emily's voice from the doorway, followed by the clamoring of the rest of the team into the small room. Most of them squeezed onto the couch around Reid, the rest piling into any chair around the room. Rossi stood sentinel in the doorway for a moment, watching Hotch for his response to the chaos, and once he was sure that it was going to be ok he made way for the kitchen to grab the bottles of wine he'd opened to breathe earlier. They all needed it. He knew this had been just as hard on any of them as it was for him – he was dealing with the brunt of the care, but they desperately wanted to help and were being shut out. Rossi passed around glasses and heavy pours of deep red wine, lifeblood for everyone in the room it felt like. He approached Hotch quietly while the rest took sips and lost themselves for a moment in the wine. 

“Would you like a glass? I poured you one, but I hadn't considered...” Rossi began, letting the rest of his sentence silently pass between them. He hadn't considered that Aaron couldn't really hold a glass, let alone lift it to his mouth yet, try as he might. And with his jaw wired, it added an extra layer of difficulty. He'd been getting by with long straws and the occasional hand from his friend, but neither seemed appropriate in this instance. Hotch just smiled and shook his head, albeit a little sadly. 

“I probably shouldn't anyway,” came Hotch's quiet reply. The team turned their attention back to him and began firing questions at him, like he knew they would, and he did his best to answer what he could. Rossi cut in to give him a break when appropriate, at this point he knew as much as Aaron anyway, possibly more. 

“Did they catch the guy?” Morgan asked, sipping his wine quietly to punctuate the question. 

“No, not yet,” Rossi began, before Aaron had a chance. “After talking to some witnesses, and reviewing the intersection footage, it looks almost like it was intentional – they're investigating it as a hit and run, possibly attempted manslaughter.” Rossi had been in touch with the local PD daily, sometimes multiple times a day, hounding them for answers. It gave him a sense of purpose, he supposed, and a way to avoid doting on his friend in ways that he didn't want. He hadn't shared much of this information with Aaron, he didn't think the other man needed something else to concern himself with, but now it was out there, his words hanging darkly above all of their heads. 

“They think someone did this on purpose? Why?” JJ piped in, looking wide eyed first at Rossi, then Hotch, and back to Rossi who just shrugged. 

“When the car approached the intersection, it seemed to speed up – but the light had already been red for a while, so the police don't believe that they were just speeding up to make the light. I watched,” he paused, glancing over at Aaron momentarily, having not shared this with his friend. He felt like he was breaking some level of trust now that he'd have to try to make up for later. “I watched the footage. I agree with the PD, it looks like it may have been intentional.” Aaron stared at his friend, his features stony and pale. 

“How can we help?” Emily jumped in, leaning forward. Hotch shut his eyes, he'd had enough. Everyone was talking now like he wasn't there anyway, and his mind was racing a mile a minute. He couldn't exactly get up and leave, and he wouldn't ask them to, so he just closed his eyes and willed his mind to slow down, to let it go, to relax. He was so tired all the time anyway, it felt natural just to let himself drift off to sleep surrounded by the buzzing conversation. 

“It's out of our jurisdiction,” Rossi replied solemnly. “I tried to pull the attack on an FBI agent card, but I was shut down. They said that if they can somehow deem it intentional, we can step in, but until that time it's a routine hit and run with _suspected_ intention. “

The room went silent for a minute, each of them regarding the situation in their own private way before continuing the talk. None of them seemed to notice Hotch for a long while, not until he'd actually managed to put himself completely to sleep. Rossi looked over first, glad that he'd get a small reprieve before having to have the uncomfortable conversation about the investigation. He pulled a blanket out of a chest in the corner of the room and draped it over Aaron gently, ushering the rest of the team out of the room and down into the open kitchen where they could continue to talk and enjoy their wine without disturbing Aaron. 

“Has he been sleeping?” Morgan asked, ever the pragmatic one. Rossi sipped his wine and gave Morgan a knowing look. 

“Off and on. His pain is worse at night, so he spends most of the night awake trying to get comfortable. He drifts off during the day though.” 

“Can we help? You need to sleep, Rossi,” Emily chimed in. 

“Not yet. I don't think he was even ready for this tonight, but he's trying. Don't worry about me.” 

“Did he know about the investigation?” Reid asked quietly. He'd been mostly silent the entire time, listening to everyone chatter around him, acutely aware that Hotch's demeanor had shifted before he'd decided to go to sleep. Rossi seemed to be the only other person who had noted it. 

“No, I didn't think it was going to do him any good to know when I don't have any real answers. I should have told him.” Rossi's confession caught them off guard and silence followed for a few moments, each regarding the precarious situation in their own way. Garcia began furiously typing on her phone, Emily and JJ just looked at eachother, and Morgan cleared his throat as if to break the trance of the room. 

“You were right,” Morgan said, finally. “I'm sure he would have done the same for any of us. He's already in a bad way, man, it's just gonna make it worse.”

“Well, he knows now. We'll cross that bridge later. What's going on at the office?” Rossi abruptly changed the subject, no longer wishing to discuss his shortcomings or Hotch's. JJ began filling Rossi in on the cases that were landing on her desk, none of which were going to take the team far but this would be their last night of freedom for a few days. 

“If we have to go, will you be coming?” JJ asked, finally, wondering aloud what everyone else was thinking – how was this going to work? 

“Strauss has me listed on medical leave,” Rossi answered quietly. “If the case is emergent and needs me, I will have to go, but otherwise I'm off duty until he's able to walk unassisted. He's got a fractured pelvis, so he isn't able to bear weight on his right side, but with his rotator cuff injuries, he's also not able to use crutches. One side is worse than the other, so it's possible he'll be able to get around using a cane but really it's a race between his shoulders and hip for healing. It's a very good thing I never use my sick leave.”

“We'll try to manage without you,” JJ said quietly, really taking in the sacrifice that Rossi was making. By the looks of things, he'd completely turned his life upside down to accommodate Hotch. None of them had really realized the severity of the situation until Rossi put words to it and they saw him with their own eyes. Hotch's face bore the swelling and bruises and his wrist was in a cast, but the rest of his injuries were silently screaming beneath his clothes. The most concerning part of it all was how very subdued Hotch was, sitting so still in that chair, none of them were prepared for how that image would settle in their minds. It had made all of them a little quieter and a little more cautious about what they said than normal. 

“Maybe you could do some of the paperwork though?” Emily asked, winking. Always with the jokes to provide a small bit of levity to a situation. Rossi chuckled and raised his glass to her. 

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, gulping down the last remnants of his glass.


	5. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are still enjoying - I am trying to make sure the fluff isn't overwhelming. I've got some fun excitement planned for the next few chapters, it took me longer than I'd planned to really lay the foundation but I so appreciate you sticking with me! <3

The late afternoon sun was trickling in through the sheer curtains in Rossi's den when Aaron woke from his nap. He wondered how long he'd been asleep but was glad that silence fell over the entire house – the team had gone. Or so he thought. He could hear sizzling sounds coming from the kitchen and a smell that made his stomach growl and grumble. With a resolve he wasn't sure he should have, he found the button on the arm of the chair that made his foot rest go down and pressed it gently, biting his lip as pain shot through his groin when his hip shifted. He wanted to stop it, wanted to just stay there, but he had to get up, had to prove to himself that he _could_ get up. He started, at first, slowly, sliding himself forward in the chair and trying to use his one semi-useful arm to push himself into a standing position but everything locked up and he knew slow wasn't going to work, he'd have to just rip off the proverbial band-aid. Thrusting his left leg into a straightened position, he forced himself upward as quickly as he could, gritting his teeth and hissing on the way up. It had been a mistake, but nothing about this was a good idea anyway and he was up now. 

The shuffle to the kitchen was one of the most painful experiences of his life, it was slow and every step brought a shot of intense agony the likes of which he'd only experienced once before, when Foyet was pushing the knife into him over and over and over again. He grabbed the wall and slid against it for a minute, for a bit of relief, to catch his breath. The further away from the den he got, the more regret he was filled with, but onward he pressed, dragging his painful leg and limping along. Finally, mercifully, he made it to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the wall, taking all the weight off of his painful hip, which really meant very little now because his entire groin area was on fire now. 

“Aaron, what are you _doing_?” Rossi demanded, throwing his spatula down on the counter and rushing over to his friend. 

“I'm fine,” Aaron protested. Classic. If he had a penny for every time he said that and was lying, he'd be rich. Dave just shook his head and sighed, looping his arm around Aaron's waist and guiding him toward a chair at the table, and easing him down into it. Aaron's body protested every movement, but once he was seated he settled into the pain and tried to relax. 

“The team left about an hour ago. Morgan had to practically drag Garcia out the door,” Dave started, picking back up his spatula and scraping at the pan of buttery smelling vegetables. Aaron's gaze drifted to the blender, already filled with what looked like broth and garlic cloves and quartered tomatoes and fresh basil. Aaron's stomach growled again. 

“Dave,” Aaron began quietly, looking down at his hand on the table, studying the nails and hairs as he tried to form the right words. Dave knew exactly what he was about to say, and he'd been ready for this conversation since the team was there. 

“I'm sorry, Aaron,” Dave cut in, scraping the sauteed vegetables into the blender carefully and setting the pan back on the stovetop. “I should have told you, I had no right to keep any of that from you.”

“Dave,” Aaron began again, quieter but more stern this time. “It's ok, I understand. This entire situation hasn't been easy on either of us, and we're just doing the best we can. I appreciate what you've done, what you are doing, more than you'll probably ever know...”

Dave paused and looked over at his friend, his dark eyes twinkling in the kitchen light, and he smiled. He'd been so anxious about this conversation, so mad at himself for being so stupid, and here was Aaron with all that grace and kindness that not many people were fortunate enough to really see but Dave knew was always there, just under that hard exterior. He punctuated the tender moment by pressing the button on the blender, sending the entire room into a frenzy of sound. Aaron watched, mesmerized, as the tomatoes turned the whole thing into a beautiful coral color. Just as soon as it started, Rossi stopped it and poured the entire contents into a sauce pan that sizzled as the liquid hit the olive oil inside. The smell that filled the kitchen was intoxicating and made Aaron's mouth water in anticipation.

“Thank you,” Dave replied, finally, stirring his beautiful creation. “While we eat, I'll tell you everything.” Aaron nodded his approval, and sat trying to be as patient as he could. He was starving, and this no chew diet was probably going to kill him, but if he at least got to eat Rossi's cooking throughout, he supposed it could be worse. Finally, mercifully, Rossi ladled the soup into bowls and grated some fresh Parmesan on top. He set a few slices of bread at his spot, and a small bowl of polenta at Aaron's, followed by those steaming bowls of tomato soup and two glasses of wine, Aaron's now adorned with a straw. Silently, the two men sat at the table regarding the feast before them, and Aaron felt utterly full to the brim with the most immense gratitude for this friendship that he found himself very nearly breaking down into another volcanic eruption of emotions, but this time he was able to funnel all of those intense feelings into two simple words: thank you, spoken quietly and with as much love as he could pour into them. Dave just nodded his silent acceptance of the gratitude, and both men dug in. Aaron was able to use his good arm to slowly bring the spoon to his mouth, bending and lifting only so far up as his elbow, but at least it was something. Eating with a wired jaw was challenging and humiliating, but he managed by going slow, and the wine helped everything. He wasn't taking anything for his pain except some small amount of ibuprofen to try and keep the swelling down, so the wine was a welcome relief as it coursed through his body and loosened all of his painful, tense muscles. After a few moments, Dave began telling Aaron everything he knew about the investigation into his accident, every detail he had now. Aaron's mind raced, trying to think back not only to that evening, prior to the accident, but days before to see if he could find any connections but coming up entirely void. There didn't seem to have been anything out of the ordinary that had happened up until that time, no faces that stood out from the crowd. Silence fell between the men again as they finished their meals and their glasses of wine. Aaron could feel his hip beginning to spasm and lock up, the chair wasn't doing him any favors, but he did his best to hide it and took the final sip from his wine glass. Dave's perception wasn't nearly so bad as Aaron had hoped, though, and the other man stood up and gathered the dishes from the table, placing them into his sink and heading back for the table. Wordlessly, he held his hand out to his friend and helped him to his feet, sliding his arm around the other man's waist to help support him as they shuffled back to the den, back to the recliner, back to the quiet, dimly lit room. Rossi left him for a moment to grab their wine glasses, suddenly refilled with the deep red liquid, and sat down on the couch across from his friend. The two men talked like old friends in the pub, for the first time since the accident – no talk about accidents, or pain, or doctors or the team. Just the most pure talk between close friends. Silence descended after a while as Aaron's features began to look drawn and tired, and Rossi realized how late it had gotten and that they would have to make the trek to the master bedroom. 

“Are you ready to get to bed?” Dave asked, arching his back in a silent stretch. “It's getting late.” Aaron regarded the other man through tired eyes and nodded his head as best he could manage. It would be his first night alone since the accident, he realized suddenly, and though this normally wouldn't be anything that concerned him, it made him feel a small pang of loneliness which only grew and grew as the two of them shuffled along and got him into bed. The lonely feeling was almost overwhelming, catching in his chest now, but he tried to push it down further and further, back into his stomach where it belonged, where it had lived for so long since Haley had left him years ago. He watched with a sadness in his dark eyes and Dave tucked him into bed and made sure he had everything he needed on the bedside table – a cup of water with a straw, the remote control for a small television that Rossi had put on the dresser in front of the bed, and a charger for his phone. Everything in place. Aaron sat quietly, until finally Rossi bid him adieu and closed the door behind him. The darkness curled around him, holding him tight in the bed, swallowing him up. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, but as tired as he was, his mind was racing, trying to search for a reason for what had happened to him in the fog of the memory. It was well over an hour before his mind and body settled into a fitful sleep, which he knew wouldn't last. He couldn't seem to sleep at night anymore.


	6. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, you guys! Your comments are so utterly kind. <3 I hope this little bit of excitement is just what the doctor ordered on this chilly November morning!

Aaron woke with a jolt to the sound of glass shattering, followed by a hissing noise. He opened his eyes and peered around for the source of the sound but found that his vision was blurry and his eyes burned. It wasn't long before he was coughing; endless, deep, rib bending coughs. He struggled to move out of his bed, to get his feet to the floor through the pain and the coughing, but before he could he felt two large hands on his arms, squeezing him at the elbows from behind, ripping his shoulders apart in a burst of motion. He felt breath against his cheek, struggling to right himself through the pain, to call out to Dave. He couldn't see, only feel, and the pain was making it hard for him to think straight about anything. Another moment passed and he could feel the needle in the bend of his elbow, just a tiny pin prick followed by a numbing sensation that coursed through his vein, and knew he didn't have much time left. He tried to call out again but his mouth wouldn't work, only muffled sounds escaped, followed by a large, strong hand clamping over his mouth – he could feel his jawbone grind under the pressure. 

“You were supposed to die,” came the voice, hot against his cheek as his struggling body went limp and he lost consciousness. 

…........................................

Down the hall, Dave jolted awake at the sound of broken glass, unsure whether he was dreaming it or not. He took a moment to sit up in bed and try to collect himself. When his mind lighted on his friend, he sprang out of bed, fearing that his friend had fallen somehow and needed him. He threw his robe on over his pajamas and made for the bedroom door in a hurry only to find it locked. Locked? He hadn't locked his door. He furiously locked and unlocked the door from his side but the door didn't budge, it was being held in place by something on the other side. Before long, he could smell the tear gas seeping into his room from under the door and covered his face with his robe, rushing for the window. He was able to swing it open, to get air into his room, but he couldn't seem to get the screen out. He threw his hands against it, trying to break it or rip it, but it wouldn't budge. 

“Aaron!” he called now, running back to his door and pounding against it with both fists. “Aaron, hold on!” He knew his yelling didn't do any good, but he hoped that his friend would at least hear him. Swallowing his panic now, he picked up his phone and dialed the first number he could think of.

“Garcia! I need you to listen to me carefully – get a lock on Hotch's phone. I don't know if he's got it with him but dammit I need you to do this for me now! Get the team to my house immediately and please call 911 for me.”

He could hear Garcia breathing sleepily against her phone, but her fingers were working away at the keypad in front of her, never far from a computer. Bless her, he thought silently, bless her and her beautiful heart always ready to jump into action to help her babies. 

“What happened?” she asked, trying to get a lock on Hotch's phone, trying to break the silence that felt like it would suffocate her. It took several seconds to ping, but her heart sank when she saw that it was still in Rossi's house. 

“Rossi,” she said, her voice catching in her throat, “his phone is still at your home. What happened?”

“Just call 911, get the team here, I don't know what happened but it's bad Garcia...”

….....................

Morgan arrived first, having still been up and about, enjoying his night. He found Rossi's front door ajar, hanging from it's hinges. Quickly he drew his gun and nudged the remnants of the door out of the way in order to step inside. He stilled his breathing, peering around every corner silently, creeping down the tiled hallway toward the open kitchen. He could smell the tear gas but he couldn't see it, and it burned his nose and throat but he kept silent, blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes. He hated tear gas. The kitchen was clear, the den was clear, now he was approaching the master bedroom where he knew Hotch had been. He peered in cautiously, his gun at the ready, but all he saw were the clear signs of a struggle and no one inside. Out of nowhere, he could hear the exploding noises of Rossi yelling down the hall, pounding his fists against the door. Morgan took one last look at Hotch's room and moved down the hall, finding Rossi's door locked. 

“Stand back!” Morgan called, taking a deep breath and kicking the door in. It was his specialty. He felt the door splinter and give way under the pressure of his kick, and watched it fall limply on it's hinges. Grabbing it now, he pulled it off, revealing a nearly rabid Dave Rossi in his dressing gown, who rushed past him toward Hotch's room. 

“Is he gone?” he asked, panic rising in his throat like bile now. Morgan followed dutifully. 

“I checked every room up to this point, Rossi...no one is here.” 

“Shit!” Rossi spat angrily, looking around Hotch's room like a hawk looking for prey. Soon they heard the sounds of sirens and saw the red and blue lights swirling down the street, parking in front of Rossi's house. His nosy neighbors were going to love this one. Along with the cops, the rest of the team began pouring in, one after another, some looking like they'd still been out on the town, others still wiping the sleep from their eyes, but they all came. And they all stayed, for the next few hours, with Rossi, frantically trying to put together the pieces of the chaos that had fallen upon them – they wouldn't say it yet, but they all knew Hotch wouldn't have much time. They knew how this sort of thing worked. None of them was a stranger to being in Hotch's position, and none of them was a stranger to having to save someone from their team, and they hoped that would carry them through this time too. 

Rossi felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and squeeze, looking up into Morgan's steely eyes. 

“We're gonna get him back,” Morgan said, quietly, sounding far more sure of himself than any of them felt.


	7. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are all seriously so kind, thank you SO much for reading! If anyone ever has a request for a fic, please let me know - I struggle more with plot than I do the actual writing, so I welcome the challenge. Thank you again!

There was a cold cement floor and the smell of bleach, and so much pain. Hotch was slumped against a wall, metallic scented water coating his pajamas on his legs and dripping onto his shoulders from somewhere above him. The room was pitch black, he couldn't see anything, and he knew he was alone. His head was pounding relentlessly, his arms were bound behind his back making his shoulders scream in agony and his broken wrist throb. With a small sense of irony, he noted that though he was in immense pain, after taking inventory of his injuries, the only thing that seemed new was the headache. Small mercies he didn't expect to have last. He struggled to move, to see if he was bound do anything, but he didn't get far before his lower back and hip seized up and he couldn't move, his muscles screaming at him in agony, begging him to sit back. No, he didn't seem to be bound to anything and for the time being, it didn't matter because he wasn't going anywhere. He wondered what time it was, if Rossi knew he was gone yet, where he was. His mind was racing and the pounding was making it difficult to sort his thoughts and get himself together. If the team knew he was missing, they'd find him, but if they didn't know yet...he had to do this himself. He had no time to wait. If this was the same person that had tried to run him over, he knew he didn't have much time – whatever sick game they felt like playing wouldn't last long. 

A flash of bright white light came from the far corner of the room and then disappeared, followed by the clinking of a chain and a flood of dim, sickly yellow light. Hotch watched with hazy eyes as someone approached him, blinking to try and focus but the light was making him dizzy and sick so he closed his eyes and tried to gather himself. 

“You,” came the man's voice, a voice that Hotch recognized but couldn't figure out why and his eyes just wouldn't focus, everything spun the moment he opened them. He squinted, trying desperately to fight the dizzy vertigo and blurriness but it took no time before he was getting sick all over himself and the floor. The man, now close enough to touch Hotch, just laughed. “Pathetic. Here I was thinking you were some sort of tough guy, but look at you. _Pathetic_ ,” the man's hot breath was on Hotch's cheek now. He smelled sterile, like the rest of this room, no human smells of any kind. The only human smells were his own, and they were making his stomach churn in agony as he struggled to keep from throwing up again. The man backed away from Hotch and began hosing the messy man down, like a dog. Hotch realized he was sitting on a floor drain as he felt the water swirl around his legs and disappear into the floor beneath him. When the impromptu shower was done, he sat against the wall shivering and soaking wet, but glad the smell of his sickness was gone. 

“You're going to wish my car had killed you,” the man said wit a sneer, turning on his heel and walking quickly out of the room, turning the light back off on the way. Hotch heard the man fumble with what sounded like a huge, full keychain and then with an echoing click, the door locked and he was left shivering in the darkness, cold and wet and utterly alone. 

…............................................

“It's ours,” Prentiss announced, stalking her way back into Rossi's kitchen and shoving her phone back into her pocket. “They gave us the case. Let's find him.” She grabbed her steaming coffee and sipped at it, lost in thought silently for a moment before looking around at the distressed faces of her favorite people. Setting her coffee down, she knew it was her job to rally the troops – they were tired, they were scared, but they were the best people for the job and they all knew it. It had already been hours since the abduction, they were wasting precious time and they all knew it. 

“Guys, come on, let's get down to the precinct and watch that tape,” she offered, grabbing her purse from a nearby chair and slinging it over her shoulder. “The coffee is gonna suck but we have to - “ but Dave cut her off as he walked into the room, buttoning his shirt with fingers shaking from the rage of having his home and friend violated while he was trapped and unable to help. 

“The tapes are useless,” he said, making way to his coffee pot, his dress shoes clicking against the tile floor. “The car had false plates and the driver's face is obscured by a hat. The most anyone could tell was that it was a man, but even that is shaky at best.” He regarded his coffee now silently, breathing in the comforting steam. “My security cameras outside were bashed in last night too, so no footage there.”

“Can I go look in Hotch's room?” Reid asked, his voice quiet and sad, exhaustion written all over his face. Rossi nodded and gestured for him to go wherever her pleased. The entire house had been ransacked by the local PD and the FBI, evidence collected that felt like theft, Rossi couldn't imagine what the kid thought he'd find but he had faith he knew what he was doing. He trusted this team with his life. If anyone was going to find something that had been missed, it was them. As Reid left, accompanied by JJ, the rest of them sat in silence in Rossi's bright kitchen. He'd left the bowls in the sink the night before, the soup pot still on the stove. Everything looked like it had when they'd eaten dinner. He thought about their evening, sitting and visiting into the night and wondered if the unsub had been watching them, waiting just outside and a shiver crawled up his spine. 

“How did the unsub know where he was?” Morgan asked, lost in his own cup of mesmerizing black coffee. “They obviously knew where he lived, but how did they know he was _here_?” This question perked Rossi up, sending off alarm bells ringing in his ears. Emily's head shot around quickly to look at Rossi. 

“He's right, how did they know Hotch was here? Reid!” Emily shot out of the room toward the bedroom Hotch had been in, her mind racing now. Rossi and the rest of the team followed her down the hall, anxious to see what he was thinking. When they entered the room, Reid was standing with what looked like a hypodermic needle in a sock, looking like he'd just seen the devil himself – and maybe, given Reid's history, he had. They all stood, shocked for a moment that the police hadn't found it, but shook that off quickly and approached the younger man. 

“This was in the sheets,” Reid said quietly, a little bashful as he had to admit he'd gone through his boss' sheets. This sort of privacy violation always made him feel anxious when it was someone he loved. He wrapped it in the sock and held it reverently in his hand before pushing it off to Emily to handle. He didn't want it anywhere near him. “We need to get this to the lab.”

…...........................

Shivering, soaking, sick. He had to get up, though. He had to get out. Gathering all the strength he possessed, which wasn't much, he tried to force his feet under him. His hip screamed at him angrily but he ignored it and pressed on, sliding his way up the scraping cement wall. He kept his eyes shut, even in the darkness, to quell the nausea and vertigo from whatever drug they'd injected him with. Once he'd achieved a full stand, he let his weight fall entirely onto his left leg for a moment, trying desperately to catch his breath and push down the pain. He listened to the whirring of the heating ducts above him, they weren't far above his head, he could feel the soft force of air swirling around just over him. The chemical smell was overwhelming his senses now, more than just bleach. He let his head fall back against the wall, his jaw throbbing fiercely, and he listened to all the sounds the room offered – the heating ducts humming, the faucet dripping, his heavy painful breaths, and there was something else. Something distant, from beyond the walls of this room – the sounds of voices, a lot of voices. Above him, around him, like ghosts in the night. He wasn't alone, he was just out of reach. His captor was bold. 

…..........................

“Diazepam,” JJ announced, hanging up her phone and sliding it into her pocket. “That was the lab. The syringe was full of diazepam, and they found Hotch's DNA on the needle.”

“Shit.” Rossi again. He couldn't stop himself. He was so angry that all of this had happened right under his nose, in his own home, when he was supposed to be taking care of his friend. His home and friend had been violated and he'd been sleeping like a baby down the hall. He wasn't one to go down into these dark holes of self-blame, but he was struggling this time and he was finding it ever more difficult to ground himself in the truth that this was not his fault. 

“You can't just buy meds like that at the corner store,” JJ stated quietly, breaking the angry silence Rossi had created. They all considered what that meant, quietly chewing on the information. 

“The hospital,” Rossi muttered under his breath, dots slowly connecting to form what looked like something solid, something they could use, and something that terrified him. “You get those meds from the hospital. The same place you get patient information, like where they live...”

“Rossi...” Reid looked horrified. “How many people were in and out of his room every day?”

“More than I can count,” the older man replied. “He had nurses, doctors, therapists, phlebotomists, pharmacists, billing people...Garcia, we need a list of everyone whose name is signed in Hotch's records for the last week. Anyone who even touched his chart, cross-reference them all with anyone who signed for medications, the cars they own, anything you can think of.” 

“I'm on it,” Garcia replied, settling into her groove at her makeshift station. She wished she was at Quantico, at her desk, with her full faculties available to her but she couldn't tear herself away from her team. Not now. She couldn't bear the thought of not being _with_ them right now. Every time they were out of her sight, it seemed like something awful happened to them and she just couldn't handle more of that right now. The rest of the team milled around, talking with the officers, looking over lists, watching the footage again and again – watching it made Reid's stomach turn and ache, the way Hotch was thrown and the way he just lay there motionless after. He had seen that before, he'd seen the footage from the explosion in New York, but this was so different. 

“I've got it!” Garcia shouted, her voice shaking with rage and excitement and terror. 

“Give it to us, baby girl,” Morgan called as he rounded a desk and made his way toward her. Garcia took a deep breath and brought up the names and images. 

“There are 5 people who have been in Hotch's records and own that same car and have signed for medications in the last 24 hours, though none of them signed out diazepam...I can't find anyone who has in the last 24 hours at this hospital so they must be sly little foxies,” she muttered, clicking through them. “Do you recognize any of these people Rossi?” Slowly faces became visible on screen and Rossi studied each of them, noting that they were vaguely familiar but none stood out until the last one – nurse Abigail. 

“Her,” Rossi muttered, pointing. “She was his main nurse. Abigail.” Suddenly Rossi was revisiting every conversation they'd had – she knew Hotch would be going home with him, she knew everything, they'd gotten to be very friendly after a week in the hospital. He couldn't make sense of it, she didn't send off any red flags, not one. 

“She's working now,” Garcia muttered, sorting through the hospital's shift records. Rossi nodded solemnly. 

“Of course, she's a Charge Nurse, been at this hospital for decades. She floats between ER shifts and inpatient – because of the nature of Hotch's job and the investigation, they moved his ER staff up to the inpatient floor so that not too many people would handle his records. The hospital administration and the police decided on that, not her...” He just couldn't shake the feeling that it couldn't be her, but he had no other ideas and this was a lead they would have to follow. He couldn't let his fondness for the nurse cloud his judgement. “I'll go talk with her...Emily, come with me please. The rest of you go talk with hospital administration, check out the other 4 people from that list – just because she's the only one I recognized doesn't mean she's our only lead.”

…............................

Every time Hotch tried to take a step away from the wall, his head spun and he felt the bile rising in his throat – whatever sedative they'd given him was clearly a very high dose and he was suffering because of it. He was able to slide along the wall, though, slowly. As long as his back was against the solid wall, his head kept from spinning. He didn't know what he was going to do, where he was going to go, but he couldn't just sit there shivering like a scared puppy. His arms raked against the rough cement, twisting his cast painfully against his broken wrist – he pushed through the pain in the hopes that he could just get to whatever door there was before his captor came back. He knew he couldn't move fast, but he was moving, it was something. After a few minutes, longer than he'd wanted, he hit the corner and inched his way onto the other wall, feeling the difference in warmth – this wall was an interior wall, the other had been exterior. Another few minutes and he had hit another corner, and could feel a handle and a cold metal door. He backed against the handle and tried to fiddle with it, to press is weight down on it, but wasn't able to get it to budge – he knew it would be locked, he heard it lock, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't check anyway. His mind raced, he was so close, and he knew that the the unsub had had to enter the room a few steps before pulling the chain to turn on the light so if he could just hide out of sight, he could possibly get the jump on the unsub before the light was turned on. He slid along the door, feeling now the cool hinges against his fingers and inched just beyond it so if the door opened, he would be momentarily hidden from sight. There he waited, willing his head to stop spinning long enough to get him out of this room. He practiced stepping forward, tried to withstand the swimming dizzy feeling and the bile as long and the shooting pain in his leg as long as he could before falling back against the wall for what felt like hours. It didn't seem to be getting better, but he was figuring out ways to push through it longer and longer, almost like a game now. There was nothing more for him to do than wait in the dark for his captor to come back.


	8. Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, you get 2 chapters in one day - here it is, the final installation! I could have drug it out longer, almost did, but I have so many more ideas for new whumpy goodness that I think this one can wrap up. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I know that it wraps up quickly, but that's usually how CM episodes go and I wanted to follow their lead - spend a lot of time building it up, and then let it wrap up quickly because the team is just that good. If anyone has any prompts, please let me know, I'm happy to oblige. Anyway, without further adieu, I give you the final chapter...
> 
> (This story was inspired by the song Precious by Depeche Mode)

“Abigail,” Rossi said, sitting across from the nurse, the woman whose company he had enjoyed very much every day as he stayed with his injured friend. She'd listened to him, she'd offered her own experiences from hospital life, she'd been a good friend in his time of need. And looking across the small breakroom table at her now, she still had that same sweet demeanor – there was no false pretense on her face, nothing that said she was hiding something or that she'd have any reason to. “I need you to tell me where you were - “ Rossi began, but Abigail just nodded her head. 

“At the time of your friend's accident?” she asked, filling in the blank. “I was working in the ER, I'd been on shift since 3pm that day. I was charge when he was brought in. I was supposed to be off by midnight, but I didn't get out of here until almost 2am with all of the paperwork he came with.” 

“Abigail,” Rossi began again, his voice soft and gentle. Emily wondered what feelings Rossi had developed, she knew his affinity for a beautiful woman but if this got in the way of the investigation she'd have to pull him out of the room. “The car that ran him down is the same make, model and year that you own. Did you drive to work?”

“I never drive to work,” she replied with a smile, her eyes twinkling. “I hate traffic and parking down here is awful. I take the metro.” Rossi nodded again, they'd be able to verify that, everything on the metro was on film. 

“Does anyone else use your car?” Emily piped in, breaking up the uncomfortable vibe she was getting from the two of them. Abigail regarded this question for a moment and shook her head finally. 

“Not that I know of, I live alone. My neighbor knows where I keep my spare keys but she's 87 years old and doesn't drive. David,” she paused, the smile fading from her sweet features. “Am I a suspect in Agent Hotchner's accident?” 

Emily peered over at Rossi now incredulously, waiting for his answer. “We're looking into all of the possibilities, that's all.” 

“Thank you,” Emily cut in again, excusing Abigail from the room. One final look of concern from her, one half smile from Rossi, and she left the breakroom. “Rossi, you're too close to this one...”

“It's not what you think, Em,” Rossi stated flatly, but he saw the look in her eye – she didn't buy it. “Cross my heart. It's not what you think. Now, she keeps a spare set of keys somewhere her neighbor knows...maybe we need to look at the neighbor.”

“Her _87 year old_ neighbor?” Emily snorted, but the realization hit her almost immediately. That 87 year old neighbor may have family, a friend, someone else who has found access to the nurse's car. Rossi saw the realization cross her face and smiled. 

….........................

It wasn't long before Garcia had figured it all out, like she always did. None of them knew what they'd do if they didn't have her. She sent Reid to Abigail's apartment with a search warrant, and he'd found that her keys showed signs of duplication. The neighbor was home and though she seemed feeble, she offered up all of the information clear as day right there to Spencer, he'd barely had to ask, she was clearly feeling the need to speak to someone, anyone, about this burden of knowledge she bore – her nephew sometimes borrowed Abigail's car to run his errands, it wasn't a big deal. He didn't have a car yet, he'd just been released from prison a few weeks before and was just getting his life back. After looking up the nephew, Neal Largent, they saw that he'd been locked up in a case tried by Hotch twenty years before for vehicular manslaughter after hitting two pedestrians, school teachers, in a school zone and running scared from the scene. Somehow, through the overcrowding of the prison system, he was released on good behavior 15 years before his time was up. He'd begun working as a custodian in the hospital, a job his aunt's neighbor had helped him get so he could get back on his feet and re-enter society, but two weeks after he'd begun his job, he saw him. Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor who'd put him in prison like he was some kind of monster, out running by himself around a park. Neal had followed him that night, and every night after, inching closer and closer to where the damn scumbag lawyer lived until finally he'd found him. He'd told his aunt all about it, about how he felt when he saw that man's face. The old woman grabbed Reid's hand, and his instinct was always to pull away from touch, but he let her, she seemed to need it. She was scared. She said it was a slow burn, figuring out the man's routine, and then he borrowed the neighbor's car, put some fake plates on so she wouldn't get in trouble for what he did, and set out to rid the earth of that lawyer scum. When he survived, Neal was OK with it for a moment, knowing he'd at least caused great pain but then he found out he was now a Federal Agent, he knew he had to finish the job. The snake had grown more powerful. Reid alerted the team immediately. 

“He's working now...” Garcia muttered into the phone, and Reid nodded. He already knew. They couldn't figure out how he'd gotten his hands on the sedative he'd used on Hotch, but it hardly mattered anymore. 

…..........................

Agent Hotchner froze against the wall when he heard the rattle of that giant key chain. Fumbling sounds followed, and then the click of a key in the lock before the door swung open, flooding the corner with that bright white light. The man stepped into the room, his heavy boots against the cement quieter than they should have been, and Hotch watched as the man reached up, silhouetted by the light, to pull the chain – that was when he made his move. Hotch dove out from the wall, using his entire body as a projectile, knocking the man over and onto the floor. He heard the man's head hit the cement and he didn't make any moves after that, but Hotch wasn't going to take any chances – he scrambled for the door, sliding and moving on pure adrenaline now, his head swimming and his stomach churning. He forced his way through the crack in the door and out into the blinding light of the hallway – it was a hallway, a basement, sterile linoleum of grey and white, yellowed footprints over decades of cleaning with harsh chemicals. He was in the hospital, he knew it now, in the basement. He peered behind him at the door to the maintenance closet he'd been in and couldn't see the unsub framed by the door anymore, where had he gone? He tried to call out for help in the desolate hallway but there wasn't anyone around, no windows, nothing. He could see a door leading to a stairwell at the end of the long hallway, a door with a small window, and forced himself into a standing position, wishing he could get his hands unbound but not dwelling on things he couldn't change. Quickly, he slid his body up the wall like he'd practiced so many times in that dark room and moved forward, trying to not to scream out in agony with every step, forcing the bile from his throat. His head was pounding and he fell more times than he'd want to ever admit later, if he survived this, but he made it to the door and backed up to the wall, steadying himself there for a moment before using his bound hands behind him to try and force the door handle down – locked. Laughter came from the other end of the hallway. His head shot in that direction and through the sweat dripping down into his eyes, he could see the unsub almost clearly now and his mind flashed back to making terrified eye contact with him as the man barreled through him with his car. The face was familiar but he couldn't place it – something in him told him that they'd met before, maybe a long time ago, a lifetime ago, but they'd met before. He knew pleading wouldn't work, the man already knew Aaron was at his mercy, so instead Aaron did what he did best – he lied. He squared up his shoulders and stood as steady and firm as he could, willing his broken body to work for him just this one more time. 

“You don't scare me.” 

“Yes I do,” the man said with a sly smile, taking a step forward, a long wrench clenched in his hand now. “I terrify you.”

“Nah,” Hotch replied, almost spitting his arrogance in the man's face. He moved, taking a step forward himself. _Steady as she goes,_ he told himself, holding his breath as the pain from his hip threatened to knock him off his feet. He stayed steady. “I've faced off with scarier men than you and come out on top. You can't scare me.”

This seemed to enrage the other man, but it also seemed momentarily to paralyze him. He regarded Hotch with a strange look on his face. 

“You're insane.”

“Yeah,” Hotch spat. “Maybe.”

That was it, the other man sent the wrench flying toward Hotch in a fit of rage. It clattered against the wall beside Hotch's head, nearly hitting him but distracting him just long enough that the man could lumber down the hallway at him and squaring up, hitting him directly in the chest with his shoulder and sending them both to the floor. Hotch had all the wind knocked out of his lungs and he gasped for breath, the shattering pain in his ribs exploding now while the man's arms encircled him, squeezing his bound arms tighter together. Hotch cried out in pain, try as he might to stop himself, he was only human. The larger man pulled himself back up to his feet, and as he began dragging Hotch back down the hallway, both of them heard a deafening shattering of glass and gunshot, then silence and the man fell down on top of Hotch. His weight was crushing and through the dizzying pain, Hotch saw a pool of blood forming beneath the larger man's head and scrambled to turn his head, to look back at the door to the stairwell where the shot had come from. He saw Morgan and Rossi coming for him, the small glass window on the door now shattered on the floor. Morgan grabbed the larger man's body and flung it off of Hotch like a piece of trash, but he let Rossi get to Hotch first. He watched as Rossi's arms encircled his friend, pulling him up into a sitting position, embracing him with an overwhelming affection that Morgan hadn't seen before. 

“Aaron,” Rossi whispered against Hotch's cheek, holding him gingerly but firm, and Hotch melted into the embrace, closing his eyes against the pain and dizziness. 

“Who was he?” Hotch asked as Morgan cut his hands free and they fell limp against his sides. His shoulders ached and his wrist throbbed, but he wrapped his arms around Rossi's waist anyway. 

“Neal Largent,” Morgan answered, regarding the dead man slumped against the wall with a look that almost showed pity. “You - “ But Hotch knew that name and it all came flooding back to him. 

“I prosecuted him for vehicular manslaughter. Hit and run. He killed two kindergarten teachers acting as crossing guards – 43 children watched it happen.” Hotch appeared almost sick at the thought. “He made a plea deal for a shortened sentence, only 35 years...for what he did...what those kids saw...it hasn't been that long...” Hotch shivered, the cold, wet pajamas slick against his skin and the adrenaline wearing off. Rossi slid out of his jacket and wrapped it around his friend's shoulders. 

“Overcrowding,” Morgan shrugged. “Good behavior in prison covers a multitude of sins.”

…........................

Back in the recliner at Rossi's house after another week in the hospital, more surgery and more healing, this time Hotch felt like he was at home now. There was no confusion, no fear, just peace. And pain, but that would fade over time, and Hotch could deal with pain anyway. Rossi sat beside him this time in a second recliner, added while Hotch was still in the hospital. A small table sat wedged between them with glasses of wine half empty, Hotch's with a twisted sparkly pink straw courtesy of one Penelope Garcia who was elated at her babies all being safe and sound again. The conversation was ebbing and flowing, silence and laughter, and a lightness that flowed easier this time between the two men. Rossi reached over and held the wine glass with the twisty, swirly pink straw to Hotch's lips and waited for his friend to drink, then he settled his hand on top of Aaron's softly, fingers entwining with the other man's, and there it stayed. 

_It's not what you think, Em,_ Rossi thought back to that moment with a soft smile. He wasn't entirely sure what it WAS, here with their hands melting into one another and the easy conversation and the sweet, warm silence, but whatever it was, it was good. So good. And that's all it needed to be for now.


End file.
